


Embers

by retrauxpunk



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: (how do i tag on ao3 i am a noob here), Alcohol, Fluff, Humor, I suppose, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, i mean by my standards anyway, ultimately this is a self-indulgent fluff fic, which ... 11k words after writing these tags ... has turned into sort of a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-03-09 04:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrauxpunk/pseuds/retrauxpunk
Summary: It’s no secret that Jared Dunn has a bit of a thing for his boss. At least, not anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just love this ship, okay? I have nothing else to add.

‘When do you think those two will finally fuck?’

Dinesh almost choked on his beer, spinning around in his chair to stare at Gilfoyle. It was late at night, technically morning, really, and everyone else had gone to bed.

‘I’m sorry, what?’ he said.

Gilfoyle didn’t look up from his online chess game. ‘What?’ he responded, in the same sardonic monotone as always.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Are you serious?’ Gilfoyle won his game, and turned to face Dinesh. ‘I’m talking about our CEO and his Head of Business Development. Obviously.’

Dinesh took a second to process the words, then laughed out loud. ‘You mean _Richard and Jared_? Gilfoyle, have you been smoking crack?’

If Gilfoyle had been the type for facial expressions, he’d have sighed or rolled his eyes. As it was, he simply stared at Dinesh for just long enough to make him start to feel stupid before responding. ‘I would posit that it would be you who’s _smoking crack_ , if you genuinely haven’t noticed.’

Dinesh frowned, shaking his head, a smirk still on his lips. ‘Noticed what? What’s there to notice?’

‘Come on,’ said Gilfoyle, cracking a hint of a scornful smile. ‘Not even you could have missed it. The way Jared is around Richard. The way he looks at him.’

Dinesh pulled a face. ‘I mean … _yeah_ , but that’s just _Jared_. He’s like a devoted servant to whoever he’s working for. That doesn’t mean he, like, _likes_ Richard.’

‘You really think that?’ Gilfoyle responded, taking a long swig from his beer.

Dinesh thought about it, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure. The thought of Gilfoyle being right made him shudder, but perhaps he _was_ right. Jared sure did spend a lot of time around Richard, not just helping him with Pied Piper business but also bringing him food, making him tea, putting blankets around him when he passed out in his chair at some ungodly hour after a self-inflicted coding marathon.

 _Sure, but Jared’s just a nice guy_ , he reasoned.

 _Jared’s never been this nice to anyone else,_ piped up a different voice in his head. _Sure, he’s still way more nice than any normal person in this town, but not quite like how he is with Richard._

And, now that he thought about it, the way Jared looked at Richard _was_ … a bit odd, to say the least. It was — how to put it? — extremely gentle, and also like it was full of … longing?

_Love?_

No, that was ridiculous. Jared wasn’t in _love_ with Richard …

He caught Gilfoyle’s resolute stare, and immediately started doubting himself again. _Fucking Gilfoyle._

‘There it is,’ said Gilfoyle, a note of smugness entering his voice. ‘You know I’m right.’

‘Fuck,’ said Dinesh, letting out a long exhalation. ‘Well, okay, sure, _maybe_ Jared’s got a thing for Richard.’ The words felt odd coming out of his mouth. It still felt like such an alien idea. ‘But do you seriously think that Richard returns those feelings?’

Gilfoyle took another swig, then set the bottle down on the table with an audible clink. ‘I didn’t say that. But, you know. Richard isn’t exactly the most … _in touch_ with his feelings —’

‘Says _you,_ ’ Dinesh couldn’t resist chipping in.

‘— so who knows?’ Gilfoyle stood up and turned off his computer, heading for the hall. ‘What I _do_ know is that I sure as hell have never seen Richard voluntarily spend this much time with any other person.’

‘Oh come on,’ scoffed Dinesh. ‘They work together, obviously they’ll be spending a lot of time together.’

‘Right,’ said Gilfoyle. ‘And I’m sure it’s necessary _for work_ for them to go grocery shopping together, spend all weekend talking by the pool together, and falling asleep on the couch in front of documentaries together.’

With that, he disappeared down the hall.

Dinesh watched absentmindedly as he went, his brows knitted into a frown as Gilfoyle’s words seeped into his brain like acid eating through metal, wiping out all his previous assumptions and making room for some new and curious considerations.

 

* * *

 

Jared lay awake in his bed, listening to Gilfoyle’s soft, almost silent footsteps going past. Gilfoyle had the quietest tread of all the inhabitants of the incubator, and Jared suspected that he’d trained the habit deliberately so he could better sneak up on people. Still, he couldn’t get past Jared. A childhood of experiences he’d rather forget had made him a little too keenly aware of his surroundings, and picking up on footsteps was part of that.

Not that Jared was currently thinking about footsteps, or his past, or anything other than the words he’d heard Gilfoyle and Dinesh exchange, the ones that had sent an icy shiver through his chest as he’d tuned in.

 _Oh no,_  he’d thought, as he’d listened to Gilfoyle expose his feelings for Richard to an apparently — thankfully — clueless Dinesh.

Not that Dinesh was clueless anymore, thanks to Gilfoyle.

Jared sighed. If anything, he should be grateful that it was only now that this had come up. At first, he’d tried to be subtle about it, keeping a disciplined distance from Richard and only engaging in displays of devotion that could be plausibly considered purely professional. But after all this time working and living together, and especially after Richard had started to — astonishingly, _miraculously_ — show some actual returned attention, maybe even (dare he think it?) _affection_ (even if it was, at most, only on a platonic level) well, it had turned out to be darn near impossible for Jared to hide his feelings anymore.

He turned over in his bed, subconsciously clenching the sheets in his fists. _Silly Donald,_  he chided himself. _You should have tried harder to hide it. What’s going to happen now that they know? It’s probably only a matter of time before Richard knows — if he hasn’t already worked it out, that is…_ On and on it went, a torrent of worries and fears forming themselves into a parade of potential outcomes, each more mortifying and crushingly painful to consider than the last. Jared knew, intellectually, that there was no use in this spiral of pessimistic catastrophising, but it felt like picking a scab or worrying a sore tooth — as morbidly irresistible as it was agonising.

He couldn’t stop — especially not once he recognised the thing that was flickering beneath the waves of fear, anxiety, and dread, the little ember that had remained aglow through all the twists and turns of his life, despite everything. It prevailed now, against the odds, enticing and dangerous.

Hope.

Jared tried to snuff it out. Of course, he failed. And so he just kept reciting the litany of doom in his head, reasons why this would all turn out disastrously, reasons why _even if_ it didn’t, the idea of him and Richard was clearly a terrible one, one he ought to have abandoned long ago instead of letting it fester and grow inside him.

He told himself this, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. As the minutes ticked by and turned into hours, and slowly but eventually Jared grew tired and slipped toward sleep, his anxiety slowed and faded, giving way to something else.

The ember inside him flickered and, against all reason, glowed a little brighter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy writing drunkenness and humour, turns out.

Dinesh was many things, thought Richard, but a shy karaoke singer wasn’t one of them. Not that he was any _good_ , but despite — _because_ of that — Richard had to admire his confidence. And sure, he was drunk now, plastered really, but it had only taken half a beer before he’d gone for the mic and let loose.

And he was still going, even though the entire bar was now all but empty save for the two of them. Monica and Gilfoyle had left a couple of hours ago, and Jared hadn’t been able to attend as he’d had to help his elderly friend Gloria with a ‘minor emergency’.

Richard leaned back in his seat, watching Dinesh flailing with the same awkward-yet-somehow-also-completely-confident dance moves that he always pulled when butchering Crispian St. Peter’s ‘The Pied Piper’. Normally this would have been at least mildly cringeworthy to behold, but Richard was so drunk that the second hand embarrassment was bouncing off him completely. The corner of his mouth was quirked up in half a smile, the room seemed to buzz on a frequency he couldn’t quite tune into, and his head was feeling very heavy, albeit in an oddly not-unpleasant way. As if it were filled with kittens. Fat, clumsy kittens.

‘Your turn!’ Dinesh half-yelled at Richard when his song was over, thrusting a microphone at him.

‘No, no, not for me, thanks,’ said Richard, snorting a half-laugh.

‘Come on!’ said Dinesh, a massive drunken grin plastered on his face. ‘We’ve never even heard you sing!’

‘Um, yeah,’ said Richard. He smirked, gently pushing the mic away. ‘That’s — that’s kinda, you know, by design?’

Dinesh rolled his eyes, sighed expansively and returned the mic before falling into the seat beside him with a groan. ‘Why does _no one_ want to sing with me?’

Richard blinked slowly, a laugh bubbling up inside his chest. ‘Dude.’

That was when a member of staff came round and informed the two that the bar was taking final orders before it closed in half an hour. Dinesh and Richard exchanged a glance, then both thought better of it and declined. Richard still had half a cocktail left in front of him, which he tried to finish while Dinesh ordered them a Lyft. But the car arrived quicker than they expected, and Richard decided he should probably abandon the drink. With a great effort of will, the two managed to get outside and fall into the back of the car.

‘God, what time is it?’ Richard mumbled. ‘When did we last stay out this late — ever?’

‘Did you know Jared likes you?’ blurted Dinesh by way of response.

 

* * *

 

Jared hummed to himself as he walked, arms laden with shopping bags from the supermarket, turning the last corner before home. Well, the incubator — which was technically just his temporary residence until he got his tenant situation sorted out. Still, it _felt_ like home. On the nights when he was honest with himself, he was able to admit that it had felt like home for a long time — from ever since he’d showed up at the door after receiving that fateful phone call at the start of this all.

_Hi, this is Richard ... Hendricks._

Jared had just finished fixing himself dinner when he’d picked up. He still remembered the way his heart had spasmed when he’d heard Richard’s voice, before kicking into a tempo so fast it was almost painful.

_Is now a good time?_

He’d had to clear his throat to speak, it had gone so dry. _Yes_ , he’d said, somehow managing to keep his voice even. _What did you want to talk about?_

Jared recalled clear as anything the next words Richard had spoken, not just the words but every little detail: pitch, intonation, cadence. They were, he sometimes thought, the sweetest words he’d ever heard.

_Uh, I need some help._

He’d wolfed down his food as quickly as he could without causing himself injury, before driving to Richard’s house at a near-illegal speed. His heart was jumping in his chest the whole way there, and his hands almost shook as he gripped the steering wheel. At that point he hadn’t even dared to consider that this could be anything more than a professional association, but back then, that had been enough — more than enough. All he had wanted was to be near this remarkable, talented man who had turned down ten million dollars from Gavin Belson in order to pursue his own vision, and if he could do that by working with him, by being on the Pied Piper team and heading up their business development — well, as far as he was concerned, that was a dream come true.

But that was back then, and things were different now. That was before he’d spent virtually all his waking hours in the company of the Pied Piper team, before he’d gotten to know Richard Hendricks inside and out. Before he’d spent countless hours with him at all times of the day and night ironing out kinks and fighting fires, making sure he actually ate and slept instead of losing himself completely in his work, and helping him through a not insignificant number of panic attacks before deadlines, press interviews, and meetings with VCs.

Before he’d grown accustomed to Richard’s lanky, wiry silhouette, his deep-set blue eyes, the way his brows and lips would twitch in barely-concealed confusion, frustration, or amusement (sometimes all at once). Before he’d memorised very line and angle of his face, every layer and texture of that soft-spoken voice that made Jared think of warm linens and crisp fall days.

That was before he’d fallen in love.

Jared reached the front door and let himself in, careful to be quiet in case he disturbed anyone. He doubted it was necessary, as everyone who lived here slept like the dead, but it was a hard habit to break. The urge to make himself unnoticeable unless necessary, invisible unless he could be useful.

 _And yet you weren’t able to hide_ this _,_ hissed the voice in his head. It spoke, of course, of his infatuation with Richard. It was all it ever talked about, these days. (It and all the other voices in his head, some of which had been talking about it from since the day they’d met, really.)

Jared felt the venom in the admonishment, but couldn’t help noticing that it lacked its usual sting. A whole three days had passed since he’d overheard Dinesh and Gilfoyle talking about him, and the world hadn’t come crashing down. In fact, everything had carried on just about exactly as usual. It was at once both unsurprising, and a huge relief. But also, Jared couldn’t help noticing, just a little bit … disappointing.

He shook the notion out of his head, quite literally, as he entered the kitchen and started putting away the groceries from his late night walk. He was just finishing up when he heard a car pull outside, followed by the sound of closing doors. Peeping out from the kitchen window, he saw Richard and Dinesh making their way up the drive, shambling like zombies.

Jared felt a very strong urge to disappear. It was a similar feeling to the one he’d experienced when Dinesh had suggested they all go out that night, the one that had led him to make up a lie about his friend Gloria so he’d have an excuse to sit this one out, because he hadn’t thought he could stand to spend another minute around Richard Hendricks with the weight of his secret filling his lungs like smoke. It was as though once he’d found out that Gilfoyle knew, he had started seeing his own actions through the eyes of a highly perceptive outsider, and all at once he was achingly self-conscious, paranoid that his every move was betraying him.

Jared packed away his canvas shopping bags, stowing them in their drawer, and slipped down the corridor and into his room just as the front door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some irrelevant-to-story author trivia: Richard's analogy likening being drunk to having a head filled with kittens is something that I myself came up with (and said out loud) when I was drunk on cocktails in a Thai restaurant in Stuttgart with friends when I was 21. Despite being well above my country's drinking age, I was still new to drunken-ness, so I enjoyed the sensation pretty ... vocally.


	3. Chapter 3

‘You’re fucking with me,’ said Richard for the umpteenth time as their driver pulled up outside the house.

‘Oh my  _ god _ , I am  _ not _ fucking with you,’ responded Dinesh, just as he had every other time. ‘What would be the point?’

‘I dunno,’ Richard slurred as he got out of the car and slammed the door a little too hard. ‘Sorry,’ he called to the driver as she drove off. Then he spun round to face Dinesh, overdoing the spin a little and stumbling. ‘You — you’re just messing with my head for fun.’

Dinesh scoffed, so loudly he actually spat a little. ‘You  _ wish _ I’d mess with your head for fun. You are so  _ un-fun _ to make fun of, y’know? If I tried to actually fuck with you — if I  _ properly _ put in the effort — you would never fucking recover. You’d be throwing up in a corner somewhere, probably in front of people, or lying fully clothed in the bathtub. Probably both, one after the other.’

‘Hey!’ laughed Richard. He tried to give Dinesh a playful punch on the arm and, somehow, missed. ‘You’re not allowed to — to bring up the bathtub. It’s a … it’s … you know …’ He came to a stop at the front door, gesticulating vaguely as he tried to find the words. ‘It’s a … it’s a  _ thing _ .’

‘What, like a sacred Pied Piper CEO thing?’ said Dinesh.

‘Exactly!’ cried Richard, in the tone of voice of one who’d had a philosophical epiphany. ‘That’s — that’s  _ exactly _ … what I mean.’ He swayed, and leaned against the front door for support. ‘You can’t … make fun of me for that.’

‘Right,’ said Dinesh, sounding both amused and thoroughly unconvinced. Like a teacher humouring a child. ‘ _ Anyway _ .’ He fumbled for his keys, and managed to get the door open on the second try. ‘The point is, and this is true no matter how much you deny it, Jared likes you. Like,  _ like-likes _ you.’

Richard pulled a face as they stumbled over the threshold and into the house, his lips pursed and twisted into a frown. ‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s  _ not _ bullshit!’ cried Dinesh. ‘Gilfoyle told me.’

Richard wobbled over to the couch and sat down. ‘Since — since  _ when _ did  _ you _ listen to Gilfoyle?’

Dinesh ignored this and sat down beside Richard, turning to face him. ‘Come on, dude. How have you not noticed? It’s like I said in the car, you guys spend  _ so much _ time together, doing all these things that it’s totally  _ unncessary _ to do together, and also — have you  _ seen _ the way he looks at you?’

Richard tried to think about the words Dinesh was saying, but there was a thick fog in his brain that was proving very difficult to penetrate. Not that Richard was trying very hard — it was easy not to try when the fog was made of drunkenness and a disbelief so strong that it would perhaps be more accurately termed ‘denial’. 

‘We work together,’ he said finally, after a long pause. ‘And he — he looks like that at everyone.’

‘That is  _ not _ true,’ said Dinesh. ‘And you know it!’

Richard’s head was spinning. ‘Why are you even telling me this?’

Dinesh stared, his mouth crooked in a half-grin that was equal parts amusement and derision. ‘To mess with you.  _ Duh _ .’

‘ _ What _ ?’ cried Richard. ‘But you  _ just said _ —’

‘Oh, no,’ Dinesh cut in, waving his hands as if to physically sweep away Richard’s indignation, ‘I don’t mean messing with you as in  _ lying _ . This is the truth! But I  _ am _ telling you because I thought it’d be fun to see how you’d take it. Because I’m  _ drunk _ , you know?’ he added, with a conspiratorial nudge to Richard’s ribs.

‘Gee,’ muttered Richard, rolling his eyes. ‘I’d never have guessed.’ He sighed, and forced himself onto his feet with a groan, swaying slightly as he stood. ‘I still think it’s bullshit. And I'm — I’m going to bed.’

‘Sweet dreams!’ said Dinesh to Richard’s retreating form. ‘Of Jared,’ he added to himself, snickering at the thought.

‘What was that?’ said Richard, turning around, brows knitted into a suspicious frown.

‘Oh, nothing,’ said Dinesh, waving a hand dismissively. ‘Nothing at all. You go to sleep now.  _ With Jared _ ,’ he couldn’t help adding under his breath, too low for Richard to hear. Smirking to himself, he curled up on the couch — his bedroom was really much too far away, given his current state — and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Richard woke up to a vicious hangover. The first sensation he registered was the blinding pain in his head; the second was the sudden and uncontrollable urge to vomit.

He climbed down from the loft bed as quickly as he could, cursing himself for actually sleeping in it the night before instead of just passing out on the floor, the couch, or literally anywhere else that wasn’t accessible only by a ladder. 

_ Even the bathtub would’ve been better _ , he thought to himself as he lurched into the bathroom just in time to expel the contents of his stomach into the toilet.  _ Prime real estate, really. Wouldn’t even have to get out. Could just lean over. _

The thought of the bathtub tugged at a memory, at something just out of sight. Richard frowned to himself as he straightened and cleaned himself up, trying to work out what it was.

What had happened last night? He recalled that they’d all gone out for karaoke at Dinesh’s behest, except Jared, who hadn’t been able to make it — a pity, really, as it would’ve been nice to have the whole gang present — and they had had … quite a lot to drink. Which was undoubtedly the reason why he couldn’t work out what this mysterious bathtub memory was — or even, for that matter, be sure that it was a memory rather than an errant brain fart. 

Richard absentmindedly peeled off last night’s clothes — he’d been too drunk to get undressed, apparently, though not too drunk to climb the ladder to his bed — and turned on the shower. He was feeling so shattered that it was only then that it occurred to him to lock the bathroom door.

It came to him as he stepped into the shower, as if crossing the threshold had broken a spell of temporary amnesia. The memory of the conversation with Dinesh that had started in the Lyft home and continued all the way until he’d gone to bed came careening into his mind with all the terrifying clarity of a runaway train.

Richard felt it was a little unfair that his senses were so discombobulated that he was actually having to put in a conscious effort to stay upright, and yet he was still able to perceive his heartbeat’s painfully rapid acceleration in exquisitely painful detail. He showered in a daze, letting the hot water pummelling his skin distract him from having to confront his recently recovered recollections.

But you couldn’t shower forever, no matter how hard you tried, and eventually Richard had to turn off the water and step outside. He could feel the blood pounding in his head, and instead of towelling off, he stood leaning against the shower door, letting the coldness of the glass leech into his skin.

Was it true?  _ Did _ Jared like him … in  _ that _ way?

And — perhaps more importantly — why did it matter?

Richard swallowed. His headache seemed to be getting worse. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, and gathered all his mental willpower to push the thoughts out of his head for now. He’d deal with this — whatever ‘this’ was — later.

It was pathetic, there was no denying that, but the fact of the matter was that Richard was barely equipped to handle such thoughts when at his best, let alone in his current dreadfully hungover state. Resolving not to give it any more thought until further notice, he dried off, tied the towel around his waist, and opened the bathroom door —

— to find Jared standing on the other side, still in the middle of raising a hand to knock, his eyes widening in surprise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I wrote so much Richard introspection but ... here it is, in all its lightly dysfunctional glory. Enjoy xoxoxo

Richard stared, gripped by a sudden and total paralysis. He swallowed and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Jared was the first to recover.

‘Oh, good morning, Richard,’ he said, blinking, lowering his hand and smiling a little. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Please, go ahead.’ He stepped graciously aside from the doorway to let Richard pass.

Richard opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. Giving Jared a sheepish half-smile and a nod, he ducked past and hurried to his bedroom, painfully aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but a towel.

He resisted the urge to glance back, to see if Jared was watching him retreat — at least, he did for a total of two whole seconds, before darting a look behind him, just in time to see the bathroom door close. An immediate sensation of relief struck him, followed by something that felt uncomfortably close to disappointment, which quickly curdled into mild horror.

_ This is stupid, _ he thought, as he closed the door to his room behind him, a little too hard. He ripped off the towel and got dressed, grabbing the first items of clothing from his closet that his eyes landed on.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s  _ Jared _. Why the fuck are you freaking out? _

Because, much as he was reluctant to admit it, that was what was happening — he  _ was  _ freaking out. And over what? Over something Dinesh had told him the previous night while blind drunk, over an extremely middle-school revelation.

_ He likes you. _

To Richard’s absolute horror, he felt a blush rising in his cheeks as he replayed the words in his mind.  _ Why? _ he screamed at himself internally, and felt the headache spike so hard he thought, for a moment, that he was going to throw up again. He stumbled to his chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on the desk and burying his face in his hands.

_ Come on, Richard. Get a grip. _

He took a deep breath and sat upright in his chair again.

_ Let’s review the facts of the situation. _

It didn’t take him long to realise that the facts were actually quite sparse, and boiled down to the following: last night Dinesh had told Richard that Jared liked him. In  _ that _ way. 

And Richard hadn’t believed him, but Dinesh had seemed awfully intent on convincing him otherwise. Maybe a bit too intent for it to be a trick … and then Richard remembered the lengths he’d seen Dinesh go to in the past, just to get a rise out of Gilfoyle, and immediately dismissed that line of thought. Of course it could be a trick. Of course it …  _ was _ a trick?

No — he didn’t know that for sure. Richard’s memory of the previous night was imperfect, his cognitive functions still clogged by the hangover, but it occurred to him that if he was only now — a half hour or so after waking — considering that Dinesh could’ve been lying, then that must mean he’d gone to bed feeling … well, not exactly  _ convinced _ , but at least willing to entertain the possible veracity of the claim. 

And why was that? Richard wasn’t sure. Yes, he and Jared did spend a lot of time together, but that was to be expected of people who worked and lived under the one roof. And yes, Jared did seem awfully devoted to Richard ... but that was just because Richard was his boss, right? After all, Jared had been just as devoted to Gavin — Richard recalled, briefly, the sting he’d felt when Jared had shamefully confessed one evening that it had been him who’d first alerted Gavin Belson to the potential applications of Richard’s compression algorithm that was, at the time, still tucked away in a music search app.

But that had been a long time ago, and yes, Jared had once been Gavin’s right hand man — but he’d jumped ship to join Richard, hadn’t he? Back when Pied Piper wasn’t even a company yet, back when it was barely more than an idea being fought over by billionaires who saw its potential better than Richard did. And he had stuck by him every step of the way, through every wild, brilliant, appalling thing that Richard had done.

_ Okay, so he’s loyal _ , thought Richard, spinning idly in his chair and frowning to himself. _ That doesn’t mean he’s got a  _ crush _ on me. _

A scrap of memory rose to the surface of his consciousness. He must have said the same words the previous night, because now he was recalling Dinesh’s drunken, too-loud voice: ‘ _ Yeah, sure, that doesn’t  _ necessarily  _ mean he’s got a crush on you. Except, oh wait, he  _ does.  _ I’m telling you, Richard, he does! _ ’

Richard let out a sigh, which turned into a groan when he caught sight of the time on his wall clock and realised that it was somehow already almost noon. He’d spent the whole morning in an alcohol-induced torpor, and the last half hour or so of it quietly going crazy while gripped by the worst hangover he’d had in a very long time.

It was time to drop this, he decided — or at least postpone it, if he couldn’t quite manage to drop it entirely. He’d — he’d deal with this later. Yes, later. That sounded like a good idea.

For now, he had work to do.

 

* * *

 

Jared willed himself not to watch as Richard all but scurried away down the corridor. The fact that he was clad in nothing but a towel did not escape Jared’s notice. If anything, he knew that the image was basically burned into his memory now, and he wouldn’t be able to forget it no matter how hard he tried — not that he would be trying very hard, he thought guiltily.

When he was done with the bathroom and returned to the living-room-slash-office, Jared was greeted by the sight of Gilfoyle idly throwing bits of cereal at Dinesh, who was still sprawled face-down on the couch. Dinesh appeared to be at least somewhat awake now, judging by his intermittent groans.

‘Good morning, Dinesh,’ said Jared cheerily. ‘How was your night of revelry?’

Dinesh stirred, raising his head to fix Jared with a bleary-eyed stare. ‘I had way too much to drink.  _ Way _ . Too much.’

Gilfoyle smirked as he flicked another piece of cereal, which hit Dinesh square on the nose. ‘Lightweight.’

‘Fuck you, Gilfoyle,’ said Dinesh. Jared noted that the words did not carry quite the same amount of venom as usual — Dinesh must have been  _ really _ hungover.

‘Oh, and he also told Richard that you have a thing for him,’ Gilfoyle added.

Jared stared, momentarily immobilised while his brain processed what he had just heard, the realisation hitting like a lightning bolt through molasses. He didn’t quite know what to say, didn’t quite know how to do anything right now other than try to stay standing and not keel over on the spot.

Dinesh, meanwhile, was having no trouble reacting. He sat upright alarmingly quickly, twisting around to face Gilfoyle. ‘I  _ what? _ ’ he cried, apparently wide awake now. He glanced at Jared for a second, expression panicky, then turned back to Gilfoyle. ‘How the  _ fuck _ did you know?’

Gilfoyle just laughed. He spooned cereal into his mouth and chewed for what felt like an unbearably long time before answering. ‘I didn’t,’ he said simply, his smile unmistakable behind his beard. ‘It was a lucky guess — which you’ve just confirmed to be correct.’

‘Mother _ fucker _ ,’ Dinesh exhaled, putting a hand to his head and staring at the ground. He looked up at Jared and opened his mouth, but seemed at a loss for words.

Jared cleared his throat and finally found his voice. ‘Dinesh, is this true?’ he said quietly.

Dinesh pulled a face and made a movement that was some combination of a nod and a shrug. ‘Yeah,’ he said, in a rather defeated tone, ‘yeah, it is. Sorry, man.’

‘Why did you do that?’ Jared asked. His heart was still pounding, he still felt faint, but he was curious, not angry — but despite that, Dinesh winced at the question, as if he’d been slapped.

‘I — I don’t know!’ he said, looking away and starting to fidget with his hands. ‘I was drunk, and — and, you know, I always say stupid shit when I’m drunk. I’m sorry, really, I am!’

He looked it too. In fact, Dinesh was acting so guilty that Jared was starting to feel … a mixture of things. Firstly, somewhat mollified, because it appeared that Dinesh had not acted out of malice, at least; secondly, an odd sense of relief, as if Dinesh’s distress were distracting him from his own. 

‘Dinesh,’ he heard himself saying — a whole chunk of his brain still felt as if it were detached from his body, watching the scene from the perspective of an outsider — as he reached out a hand placatingly. ‘It’s okay. Apology accepted.’

‘So it’s true, then,’ said Gilfoyle. He crunched on some more cereal before continuing. ‘You like Dick.’ The briefest of pauses, then: ‘In both senses of the word, come to think of it. I wasn’t even going for that double entendre.’

He smiled to himself, then spun around in his chair, turning his back to them while he continued eating.

Jared and Dinesh exchanged a glance. Jared’s palms were still sweaty, he still felt lightheaded, but at least now he wasn’t having to consciously stop himself from either falling over or running from the room. 

_ It’s happened. Richard knows. Richard knows, Richard knows, Richard knows — and the world hasn’t ended. _

_ Yet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: much like Gilfoyle, I also didn't realise the double meaning of 'you like Dick/dick' until after he said it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS! Sorry for the wait between the previous chapter and this one, and thank you for your patience. Hope ya dig it.

That afternoon, Richard decided to take a nap. Naps weren’t a common thing for him, but then again, neither were booze-soaked nights out and the killer hangovers that inevitably followed. Nor, come to think of it, was being included in gossipy conversations about workplace romances, especially not those that featured him in the role of love interest.

So to speak.

As Richard fell back onto the mattress, he told himself that he was retreating solely to recover from the physiological aftermath of the previous night, and not for any other reasons. Like avoiding Jared.

He told himself that, but he didn’t for a second believe it. 

Richard felt guilty — what if Jared knew that he knew, and what if he realised that Richard was avoiding him? — but more than that, he felt simultaneously tired to the bone _and_ as though every single part of his brain machinery was running at breakneck speed, burning itself out and yet not managing to produce a single coherent thought.

He wasn’t really sure why he was being like this. After all, Jared had acted completely normally around him that day. Then again, maybe that was it. Maybe it had felt so much like nothing had changed that Richard was starting to doubt himself again, to doubt Dinesh’s insistence that there was something to Jared’s attentive gestures and kind smiles and constant proximity other than professional devotion.

Richard groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow, and wondered if the incessant ravings of his mind would ever quiet enough for him to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

The next thing he knew, Richard was being shaken awake by someone whose hand was on his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he saw a figure in the dim light, standing by his bed.

 _Jared?_ he thought. But no — a split second later, his brain kicked into gear and he registered that the figure was not, in fact, Jared. It wasn’t tall enough, and the hair was different —

‘Get up, Dick.’

— and Jared would never have woken him so _rudely_.

Richard shifted in his bed. ‘What is it?’ he mumbled. _And how do I_ still _have a headache?_

‘Your alarm was going off,’ said Gilfoyle. He tossed something up to Richard, who scrambled and barely caught it. 

It was his phone, of course. Richard unlocked the screen to take a look.

‘ _Fuck._ ’ He sat bolt upright, so quickly that he hit his head on the ceiling. A newer, sharper burst of pain blossomed, joining the persistent buzz of his hangover. He swore again, rubbing his head and waiting for the inevitable scathing remark about his ineptitude.

Gilfoyle, however, simply said, ‘What is it?’ 

 _How uncharacteristically non-dickish_ , thought Richard, as he climbed down from the bed and headed for the living room to grab his laptop. Gilfoyle followed.

‘I have a meeting with CJ Cantwell,’ Richard explained. ‘I completely forgot about it —’

‘How unlike you.’

_Ah, there it is._

‘— and I need to have left the house, like, twenty minutes ago.’ He checked his phone, saw it was on eleven percent battery, and groaned again. ‘Fuck. I — I forgot to charge this last night.’ He darted back to his room to find his portable battery, and spent a minute frantically searching before giving up.

 _Fuck it. It’ll be fine. What’ll I need my phone for, anyway?_ _If I leave now, at least I won't be_ too _late…_

A few minutes later, he was in the back of a Lyft and on his way to the Code/Rag office, scrolling through an email thread with CJ Cantwell to remember what this meeting was for in the first place.

 

* * *

 

‘Bet you’re glad to see him gone, huh?’ said Gilfoyle, as Richard hurried out the door. He spun around in his chair and pinned Jared with his gaze, lips twitching into a smirk.

Jared laughed. It sounded forced and unconvincing. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he said, shifting in his seat.

Dinesh joined the conversation. ‘Well, now that Richard’s out of the house, you can finally exhale, right?’

‘You’ve been jumpy all day,’ said Gilfoyle.

‘Just, like, _so_ tense,’ added Dinesh. ‘It’s been very obvious.’

Jared blinked, not sure quite what to say. He tried, valiantly, to smile as his brain worked to come up with something, anything.

Long seconds passed.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Gilfoyle, rolling his eyes. ‘This is too pathetic.’

‘Yeah, it’s like kicking a sick puppy,’ said Dinesh. ‘Or a homeless person.’

‘Or a sick homeless person.’

‘My Uncle Gary used to call me all three of those things,’ Jared piped up, before he could stop himself. He was distantly aware that this wasn’t a suitable topic of conversation for the situation, but the words kept coming. ‘Well, to be clear, he would liken me to a sick animal, and also threaten me with homelessness, while telling me I would surely die on the streets because I was such a sickly child.’

There followed a brief silence.

‘Motherfucker,’ Dinesh exhaled, avoiding Jared’s gaze. 

‘I think that proves my point,’ said Gilfoyle. ‘You are officially no longer fun to fuck with. Congratulations.’

 _I suppose that’s a good thing_ , thought Jared. Then something clicked in his brain and he felt a little spark of hope. ‘So just to clarify,’ he said, ‘does that mean — when you said I was being obvious —’

‘We were just kidding,’ said Gilfoyle. ‘You were fine.’

‘Yeah, honestly, I was impressed,’ said Dinesh. ‘You acted totally normal, especially compared to Richard. Not that that’s a very high bar, but still.’

The spark bloomed into relief and Jared felt himself relax for quite possibly the first time that day. A smile broke out across his face, a genuine one this time.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘So what are you gonna do now?’ asked Dinesh.

Jared frowned slightly. ‘Do —?’

‘Now that Dick knows,’ said Gilfoyle.

‘Oh,’ said Jared. ‘Um.’ 

Dinesh and Gilfoyle waited for a response, and it occurred to Jared that he hadn’t really considered _doing_ anything, other than waiting to see what the damage was and doing his best to ride it out. Sure, he’d fantasised about what he’d _like_ to do, what he’d _like_ to happen, but that didn’t feel so much like thinking as it did like … wishing.

‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘Is there — is there something you think I should do?’

‘Oh, of course there is,’ said Dinesh. ‘You should —’

‘Do whatever will be the most humiliating for you and entertaining for us,’ finished Gilfoyle. He raised his beer bottle in a mocking salute and took a swig. ‘Oh wait. Those are the same thing.’

Jared let out a reflexive laugh, the kind of split-second chuckle that had been his go-to response to comments like these for years now. ‘Oh, Gilfoyle,’ he said, still smiling, the words coming out of his mouth on autopilot. He stood up, gathering his laptop and papers. ‘Excuse me, fellows, I’m going to move to the garage to finish off my work for today. Call me if you need me.’

With that, he turned and left.

Dinesh and Gilfoyle exchanged a glance — or rather, Dinesh stared at Gilfoyle until he noticed.

‘What’re you looking at?’ said Gilfoyle.

Dinesh opened his mouth, seemed to work to find the words. ‘Don’t you think that was a bit harsh?’ he said at last, all in a rush.

Gilfoyle’s expression remained impassive for a couple of seconds. Then he looked away and sighed.

‘Shit.’

 

* * *

 

Richard’s chat with CJ concluded the same way they always did: with a sinking feeling and the nagging sensation that he must have said something wrong. The memory of their first disastrous meeting at Raviga was an indelible one, and as Richard left the Code/Rag office and stepped onto the street, he told himself — as he always did after a press engagement — _look, all things considered, that probably went fine_. The great thing about having once mistaken an amoral tech blogger for a PR advisor was that it set a very low bar for what constituted ‘fine’. 

As luck would have it, it was only once he left the office that Richard realised he needed to use the bathroom — quite badly, in fact. The stress of the interview must’ve distracted him, and now he — no, he wasn’t going to go right back in to ask to use their facilities, no, that was far too awkward.

Richard dithered, then decided that, logically speaking, awkwardness was an acceptable price to pay to avoid the potential of a much more embarrassing incident occurring. He was about to turn around when he spotted the Starbucks across the road.

 _Ah. Perfect._  

Richard made a beeline for the store. It was almost empty, save for two friends having a rather animated conversation, seemingly oblivious to the members of staff who’d started to pack up the store around them.

 _I didn’t realise any Starbucks closed this early_ , Richard thought, as he resolutely avoided eye contact with the staff and headed to the bathroom.

It was a small place, with only a single large, accessible bathroom rather than stalls and urinals. That was fine by Richard; he hated urinals. Who on earth had decided that peeing in sight of other people was a thing that people should do in civilised society, after all?

As Richard washed his hands, he caught sight of his reflection for the first time since waking from his nap. He was actually taken aback by just how dishevelled he looked.

_God. I’m never staying out with Dinesh again._

Already looking forward to going straight to bed when he got home, Richard turned the door handle to let himself out — and found that he couldn’t.

Something was stuck. The handle wasn’t turning properly. Richard frowned and tried again, pulling harder.

It didn’t work.

He swallowed, trying to ignore the rising feeling of unease that was brewing in his chest, and tried one final time.

The entire door handle came off in his hands.

_Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god._

Richard made a fist and pounded on the door a couple of times.

‘Hey!’ His voice came out thin, hesitant. ‘Hey, um — can someone help? The door’s — the door’s stuck.’ _God, it’s like leaving a voicemail but a thousand times worse._

He waited, but several seconds passed with no response. No voices, no sounds of footsteps, not even the scrape of chairs as the staff — 

 _Oh god_. 

The realisation hit like a blast of liquid nitrogen.

_They were closing the store._

_Oh god, is the store — are they?_

_No, no, no, they can’t have left already, I was only in here for a few minutes at most —_

Richard banged on the door again. ‘Hello? Hello? Anyone?’ He was shouting now, no longer caring how stupid he might sound, as long as someone heard him.

He waited, counting to ten before trying again. He shouted as loud as he could, and pounded on the door so hard that it shook visibly on its hinges, the unyielding surface sending a blunt, smarting pain through his hand.

Still there was no response, nothing at all that he could hear except for the hum of the bathroom’s exhaust fan and the thud of his own pulse in his ears. 

_Oh my god, this is not happening._

The unease had long turned into full-blown panic by now, and it was with frantic, slippery fingers that Richard pulled his phone from his pocket, almost dropping it. He woke up the screen, opened the phone app, and stopped, his thumb hovering over the number pad.

He couldn’t call 911 — this wasn’t a _real_ emergency — 

Richard hesitated for a second more before hitting Jared’s number.

 _Pick up, pick up, pick up_.

The call was taking an awfully long time to connect. There wasn’t even a dial tone. Richard lowered his phone to take a look, and was met with the worst system notification he had ever seen in his life.

_Battery low. Connect your charger. Shutting down … 5_

Richard watched as the numbers ticked inexorably down to zero, before the screen went dead and all he could see was his own horrified reflection staring back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what else is fun to write aside from drunkenness and banter? PANIC. Sorry, Richard. And yes, this final scene was inspired by that one throwaway line from Season 5 ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience, everyone! I appreciate every single one of your kudos/comments. I'd fallen into a bit of a writing rut (big apologies for the second massive wait between updates!!) but here it is, the latest chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Jared was lying on his old mattress in the garage when he heard the knock on the door.

‘Hey,’ came Gilfoyle’s voice from the other side. ‘Can I come in?’

Jared frowned to himself as he sat up. This politeness was most unusual.

‘Sure,’ he said, the apprehension in his voice audible. What could Gilfoyle want?

The door opened and Gilfoyle greeted him with a nod before entering the garage. He crossed the room to Jared’s mattress, gesturing askingly at the space beside him.       

‘May I?’ he asked.

Jared paused for a second before responding. ‘Go ahead.’

Gilfoyle sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and locking his fingers together. For a moment he didn’t say anything and simply stared at his hands for a few seconds.

Then he looked up, turning to meet Jared’s gaze.

‘I believe I owe you an apology,’ he said.

Jared blinked. Gilfoyle’s voice was as monotone as ever, but there was no hint of mockery there that he could detect. 

‘I’m sorry for what I said earlier,’ Gilfoyle continued. ‘You didn’t deserve that.’

Jared found himself smiling as the knot inside his chest loosened. ‘Why, thank you, Gilfoyle,’ he said. ‘That means a lot.’

Gilfoyle didn’t respond, but Jared thought he saw a shadow of a smile before he looked away, starting to fidget with his fingers.

The silence stretched for several seconds.

‘Is that all you wanted to say?’ asked Jared tentatively. ‘Not that I don’t enjoy your company, that is, I’m only asking —’

Gilfoyle quieted him with a wave of his hand that was dismissive but not rudely so. ‘It was, at first,’ he said. ‘But now that I’m here, I do have a question.’ He turned to face Jared once more, tilting his head quizzically. ‘What are you gonna do?’

Jared opened his mouth to answer the question before he realised that he had absolutely no clue what to say. ‘Um,’ he managed. ‘To be honest, I …’ he trailed off, suddenly struck by the notion that Gilfoyle’s apology was perhaps just another trick, something to lure him into vulnerability so the next jibe could sting even more.

_ Oh, Donald. That is a little paranoid. _

Jared cleared his throat a little. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Curiosity,’ said Gilfoyle. It was blunt but not mean, at least not perceptibly so. In the wake of Jared’s silence, he continued. ‘I mean, you’re not just going to keep pining forever, are you?’

‘Um,’ said Jared.

Gilfoyle stared at him, the effort of refraining from a scathing comment plainly visible on his face.

‘The way I see it,’ he said, ‘you have three options. You could do nothing, which is the easiest and also the worst option. Or you could try and put an active stop to whatever you’re feeling, make a willful choice to turn it off; difficult but not impossible. Or you could do something to see if Richard feels the same way — if he  _ could _ feel the same way, if it happens that he currently doesn’t.’

Jared turned away, certain that his cheeks were aflame. It wasn’t just that he was hearing his feelings for Richard being spoken about so plainly, but also that sincere input —  _ advice _ , even — was the last thing he was expecting when Gilfoyle had knocked on the door. And it was quite reasonable advice at that. Jared knew that some people didn’t like unsolicited advice, but he always felt flattered whenever anyone showed enough interest in him to want to offer their thoughts.

Jared opened his mouth, meaning to say ‘thank you’, but what came out instead was, ‘Do you think he does?’

‘Feel the same way?’

Jared swallowed. ‘Yes.’

Gilfoyle’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘You know what? I have no fucking idea.’

 

* * *

 

For the umpteenth time that night, Richard wished that he had a watch. It would’ve made this whole godforsaken ordeal that much easier to bear, if he could only watch the hours tick by, have the end in some conceivable sight. But he didn’t wear a watch, hadn’t in years, and the bathroom didn’t have windows. The only indication of the passage of time was the sound of traffic outside. It had died down a bit by now, so he knew it must be late at night — but beyond that, he hadn’t a clue.

It was quiet and loud all at once. Quiet, because he was locked in a goddamn Starbucks bathroom in the middle of the night; loud, because his thoughts were trapped in his head with no outlet, and he, without a phone or a computer or even a pen, had no distractions.

Richard got up from his seat on the cleanest patch of floor he could find, and started to pace. He cleared his throat.

‘This is fucking nuts,’ he said.

His voice cracked a little, dry from not having spoken in a while. Maybe he should have something to drink. He cast his eyes to the sink, knowing that the water from the tap was perfectly drinkable, but still feeling a cringe inside him at the thought. Something about drinking from a bathroom tap made him feel gross, even though he knew on a rational level that his disgust was unwarranted.

‘It’s okay,’ Richard assured himself. ‘It’s not like — it’s not like I’m gonna die of dehydration after not drinking water overnight. Plus,’ he added, ‘I’d drink if I really wanted to.’ He shrugged, catching his reflection in the mirror as he did so, and winced.

_ Why am I acting like there’s someone watching me? Why am I so self-conscious even though I’m completely alone? _

‘God,’ he said, laughing ruefully to himself, ‘I  _ wish _ someone were watching me. Then they could’ve called someone and gotten me out …’

But Richard had checked, and unless Starbucks was using espionage-grade bugs, there were no cameras in the bathroom — which, to be fair, would’ve been fucking  _ creepy _ — and, what’s more, the emergency cord that every accessible bathroom was fitted with didn’t appear to work. Or if it did — if it  _ had _ worked any of the fifty or so times Richard had frantically yanked on it throughout the evening — then whoever was on the other end was deliberately ignoring him.

Which was a rather more horrifying thought than a cord that was simply broken. Or was it? He wasn’t sure.

Richard wasn’t sure of a lot of things.

He looked back at his reflection, cataloguing his thin frame and narrow shoulders, his too-big nose, the bags under his eyes, and the truly disastrous state of his hair from how much he’d been running his fingers through it.

The thought that had been dipping in and out of his consciousness all day finally clawed itself out of his mouth.

‘What does Jared see in me?’

 

* * *

 

Gilfoyle tilted his head. ‘The real question is,’ he said, ‘why do  _ you _ feel the way you do?’

Jared ducked his head as a bashful grin broke out across his features. It was a reaction as involuntary as breathing. He looked up, running his hands down his slacks, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.

‘Where do I start?’ he said. ‘Richard is — he’s just wonderful.’ This wasn’t the first time that Jared had spoken to another person about Richard; a few of his friends knew, Gloria and Doris and Harriet, and his therapist knew, of course. But this was different, this was  _ Gilfoyle _ . The words stuck in his throat, but Jared was determined to draw them out.

‘He has an incredible mind,’ he continued, ‘as I’m sure you and Dinesh and everyone in the Valley has noticed. But more than that, much more, I … did Richard tell you what happened when he first met Gavin Belson?’ He huffed a laugh, shaking his head a little. ‘Sorry, that was a silly question; of course he must have.’

Gilfoyle didn’t say anything, however, and Jared continued. He wasn’t looking at Gilfoyle anymore, but rather, had started staring into the middle distance.

‘Gavin offered him ten million dollars on the spot. Not right away — at first it was a much lower sum.’

As he spoke, the garage seemed to melt away, replaced by the scene at Hooli, by the bright light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, by the sight of Richard with his rumpled curls and slight frame, wearing a dark sweater and an expression of shock and disbelief that made his eyes look ever so bright, ever so blue.

‘But Richard didn’t take it, because he’d gotten a phone call from Peter Gregory. And that, that was remarkable enough, that he was being courted by two of the biggest names in tech … but then Gavin tried to win him over with the ten million and it — it didn’t work. Do you know how much of a shock that was to me? In all my time at Hooli, I never saw anyone say no to Gavin Belson. And the moment Richard did, it was like that opened up a whole new world for me. Because it wasn’t like he was saying no out of petulance, or — or ignorance, or anything like that. It was because he had his own dream, his own vision that he wanted to realise — and it wasn’t a foolhardy pipe dream, it was vision with real, stunning,  _ sprawling _ potential.’ Jared paused, clearing his throat a little. ‘And I think … I think that was the moment when I fell in love.’

Jared blinked, and the garage swam back into focus. He was dimly aware that he’d just spoken quite a lot — not just spoken, but  _ poured his heart out _ . To Bertram Gilfoyle, of all people.

Steeling himself, Jared turned to face him.

Gilfoyle returned his gaze evenly, then breathed out through his nostrils.

‘Well, fuck me, Jared.’ His lips curved into a smile, one that appeared to be equal parts amusement and commiseration. ‘You really are screwed.’


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My horrific teenage intrusive thoughts/compulsions may have been awful but at least now I find it really easy to write obsessive introspection and denial! Enjoy xx

Night was falling, the sky darkening from the rosy-blue glow of dusk to the deep black of proper night. A chill breeze had picked up, and Jared watched as the surface of the pool rippled in the moonlight. 

He thought about going back into the house to get a jacket, but quickly dismissed the idea. For one thing, he was quite good at tolerating physical discomfort — cold, heat, hunger, sleep deprivation, they were practically old friends at this point. Not ones he saw too regularly now, thankfully, but familiar faces nonetheless. And for another, he was having such an unexpectedly pleasant time that he was reluctant to do anything that might puncture the fragility of the moment, that might break the spell.

Perhaps others might find that a little hyperbolic, but not Jared. To him, what was happening now was nothing short of a small miracle.

It had started by accident.

Dinesh and Gilfoyle had finished their work for the day and headed to the backyard to lounge by the pool. Jared wasn’t invited, but he didn’t mind, because he was still at his laptop, still working. It was one of those days when it didn’t really feel like work — most days, he loved Pied Piper so much that work was a pleasure, but today even more so. He could hardly believe he was having the thought, but the fact was, talking to Gilfoyle had — it had _helped_. There was something about sharing his secret openly with someone who was so directly involved, who knew both him and Richard, that made it all feel a little more real. 

Of course, it also made it that much more terrifying — but on the whole, Jared thought, it was worth feeling a little more grounded in his feelings. Even if he still had no idea what was to become of them, of him, of anything.

And so Jared had still been working happily when he’d heard Dinesh yell his name from outside. He’d gotten up quickly, sticking his head out the screen door that led to the backyard.

‘What is it?’

‘Could you get us some beer please?’ Dinesh had called from the deck chair beside Gilfoyle’s. Gilfoyle had raised his beer bottle to him in some kind of salute, so quickly that for a second Jared had wondered if he’d imagined it.

Jared had obliged, fetching two beers from the fridge and bringing them out. He’d been about to return to the house when Dinesh had blurted something that made him stop in his tracks.

‘Hey, why do you like Richard, anyway?’

And so Jared had started to answer, and what had begun as a polite response to the question had quickly spiralled into a dissertation. Before he knew it, he was perched on the edge of a third deck chair, accepted into the fold in a way that felt rare and wonderful.

Minutes somehow became hours, and now it was night time and Jared was still here, still hanging out with Dinesh and Gilfoyle. He couldn’t quite work out how they’d managed to pass so much time, couldn’t quite remember all they’d talked about. Maybe, despite his best efforts, he’d breathed in some second hand smoke from the joint that the other two had been passing back and forth.

Jared blinked slowly. The way the water in the pool moved in the moonlight really was beautiful. Despite its less-than-auspicious start, today had turned out to be quite a good one, he thought.

The only thing missing was Richard.

‘Guys,’ said Jared. ‘Do you think —’

‘For the last time,’ said Gilfoyle, at the same time that Dinesh heaved a massive sigh, ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’

‘Yeah, Jared,’ said Dinesh, picking the joint from Gilfoyle’s fingers. ‘He can look after himself.’ He inhaled, then started coughing. ‘Probably.’

It was far from the first time they’d had just such an exchange that evening. It had been about seven or so when Jared had started wondering where Richard was, maybe half an hour later when the wondering started turning to worry.

Now he didn’t respond, just tipped his head back to the night sky as he absently clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap.

_Richard would like looking at the stars._

The thought occurred to him unbidden, and in a flash of clarity so sudden it felt like mania, Jared made a decision. He stood up, collecting all the empty beer bottles that littered the ground around them.

‘Going somewhere?’ asked Gilfoyle. 

‘Yes,’ said Jared.

‘You’re not going to go looking for Richard, are you?’ said Dinesh, smirking.

‘I am,’ said Jared. Without waiting for a response, he headed back to the house, the flickerings of a plan coming to life in his mind.

 

* * *

 

Richard paced back and forth in the bathroom, catching his reflection in the periphery of his vision. He’d given it some solemn thought — because really, what else was there to do to pass the time? — and decided that Jared’s interest in him was surely predicated mostly on his talent. Certainly that interest must exist despite, rather than because of, his looks — big-nosed and permanently dishevelled, crooked and gangling like some kind of overgrown colt.

Yes, that must be it — Jared liked him because of his skills, which were enough to make up for all the rest he was lacking. That at least made some sense, went some way in explaining why Jared would be interested in _him_ — especially given how apparently easy it was for him to land any attractive woman he wanted.

The thought sent a twinge through Richard, as it usually did, and he stopped pacing. He remembered how taken aback he’d been the first time Jared had brought someone home, how each time after that he’d felt the same mix of unpleasant surprise and general discontentedness. Every time it had felt like envy, envy of Jared’s ability — his _game_ , that thing he distinctly lacked — but now he was stopped in his tracks by an entirely new thought.

Could it be that it wasn’t envy, but _jealousy_?

The thought was so shocking that he let out a little laugh. No, surely not — surely he wasn’t jealous of Jared’s conquests, right? 

Or at least, if he was, it wasn’t because he wanted to _sleep_ with Jared. No, of course not. It would only be because he wanted Jared’s attention, it was surely just the same generic possessiveness that had marked all of Richard’s relationships, platonic and otherwise — right?

Yes, right. He shook his head to himself.

_Am I going crazy?_

Yes, that must it. He’d been stuck in the bathroom so long it was driving him mad.

He resumed pacing, counting his steps absently.

 _Surely it must be past midnight by now_ , he thought. _Surely I’m at least approaching the halfway mark here._ The halfway mark of being trapped in a goddamn Starbucks bathroom, because he’d been _too awkward_ too use the facilities at Code/Rag, because he hadn’t plugged in his phone the previous night, hadn’t brought his portable battery when going out.

 _This is Dinesh’s fault_ , he thought, not for the first time. _He never should have bought all those drinks._

And then, of course, came all the following thoughts as he cycled through the now-familiar carousel of blame:

 _This is my fault for_ drinking _all those drinks._

_This is Gilfoyle’s fault. If he hadn’t left, he and Dinesh would’ve gotten into a pissing contest and saved me from it._

_If only Jared were there, he’d have stopped me. And why didn’t Jared remind me of this appointment today, anyway?_

_This is CJ Cantwell’s fault. Maybe if she hadn’t been such a snake the first time we met, I wouldn’t even feel weird going back to the office to use the fucking bathroom._

_What kind of Starbucks closes this early_ and _this quickly? And without_ checking the bathroom _?_

And on and on it went.

It occurred to Richard that had this happened to someone else, he might — just maybe — have been able to find it funny. Certainly if it were Gavin Belson, Jack Barker, or Russ Hanneman. Probably Dinesh or Gilfoyle too, if he were being honest. Maybe Jared, too?

No, he realised — it wouldn’t be funny if it had happened to Jared, actually. Why was that? Maybe because Jared had suffered enough, if all his wild off-the-cuff remarks about his past were indeed true, so much so that even this small misfortune would’ve seemed much too unfair.

Or maybe because, unlike the others, Jared — in all the time he’d known him — had never done anything to upset, hurt, or even annoy Richard, never laid a single metaphorical finger on him. Not one cruel remark, snapped retort, not even a good-natured jibe.

And not just that, but how many times had Jared done the exact opposite? How many times had Jared saved his skin, saved Pied Piper — how many bureaucratic pitfalls avoided, how many panic attacks defused, how many countless hours sacrificed for the good of the company, for Richard? It was almost too much to think about.

Richard slowed to a halt, the full force of Jared’s uncanny kindness sinking in properly for what felt, shockingly, like the first time. Almost immediately, he was overcome with a paralysing sense of guilt.

The next time he saw Jared, he resolved, he’d make a point to tell him just how appreciated he was, to try and repay the favour somehow, to at least try to make up for all the times he hadn’t.

And that was when he heard something, a new sound punctuating the endless monotony of distant traffic.

A faint rattling.

Instantly his senses went on high alert as he focused on the sound. It wasn’t the first time it had happened — at various points throughout the night he’d heard a dozen various noises that had sounded like possible salvation to his desperate brain, and probably hallucinated a dozen more. Still, he barely hesitated before crossing the room in two quick strides and pressing his ear to the gap between the door and its frame.

There was nothing for several long seconds. Then, just as he was about to give up, he heard a creak.

Like that of a door opening.

Was that — could it be —? He was about to cry out, to get the attention of the person who may or may not have been entering the store when it suddenly occurred to him that that maybe wasn’t so good an idea. After all, who could it possibly be at this hour? Probably not anyone up to any good. Maybe it _was_ just a staff member coming back for something they’d left behind, but still, there was no way to know.

Richard swallowed, his mouth dry as he stood poised at the door, frozen in indecision like a bug in amber.

Then, miraculously, a voice from outside, soft and curious.

‘Richard?’


	8. Chapter 8

Richard could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was that _Jared’s_ voice? His heart skipped a beat and he tried to answer, but his mouth had gone so dry that he couldn’t get the words out.

‘Richard? Are you in there?’

Yes — it was him. Unmistakably.

‘Jared!’ Richard managed to cry out, and immediately he cringed inwardly at how — well — _desperate_ he sounded. Even though, logically speaking, desperation was a perfectly reasonable response given the circumstances. 

Stronger than any self-consciousness, however, was the sheer relief.

‘Richard!’ Jared sounded almost as relieved as Richard felt. Not just relieved — positively elated. ‘Richard, where are you?’

‘In the bathroom!’ said Richard, leaning on the door. ‘I mean — I mean I’m stuck —’

Before he could continue, there was the sound of swift footsteps. The door beneath him moved and Richard jumped back in alarm. _Oh, of course,_ he thought, as it opened inwards.

Jared stood in the doorway, eyes wide with concern.

‘Richard!’ he said, and a smile lit up his features as he swept Richard into a hug. 

As with all hugs — all instances of physical contact that lasted more than a second, really — Richard had the urge to resist. This time, though, he was so relieved — fuck it, so _happy_ — to see Jared that the impulse didn’t survive for more than the briefest flicker of a moment. He even hugged Jared back.

Jared finally let go and held Richard out at arm’s length, looking him over as if to check for injures. ‘Gosh, Richard, are you okay? What happened?’

Richard shrugged, huffing a self-conscious laugh. ‘Yeah — yeah, I’m okay. Just, um —’

It was so embarrassing, so _stupid_.

‘I’ll — tell you later. ‘Let’s just get out of here?’

‘Of course,’ said Jared, touching a hand lightly to Richard’s arm. ‘Let’s get you home.’

 

* * *

 

It was a cold night, but Richard kept the passenger side window of Jared’s Volt rolled down. He had never been so glad to get fresh air.

As stupid as it seemed, getting locked in the bathroom had genuinely shaken him, a fact he realised when he’d slid into the car seat — and flinched when Jared shut the door. 

 _Oh, relax_ , he’d thought, as they’d started to drive. _You’re not gonna get locked in again. It’ll be fine. Jared’s here._

_Oh god, Jared’s here._

And that was when he’d realised that it was the first time they’d been properly alone since the previous night, since Dinesh’s revelation. To distract himself from the thought, Richard had asked the obvious question.

‘Hey, uh — how did you find me?’

Jared had glanced over with an affectionate smile and a little shrug before turning his eyes back to the road. ‘Oh, well, you know. I was worried about you. I knew you had that meeting with CJ, but when you didn’t turn up for a while after that and weren’t answering your phone, I got worried. So I checked your calendar, saw where you were meeting, and drove out here.’

‘Right, sure. But how did you know how to find me in the _Starbucks_? And did you, um, break in?’

‘I did. It’s not the first time my lock-picking knowledge has come in handy, and frankly, it was nice to be able to use that skill for for something morally defensible.’ Jared had chuckled to himself, and Richard had, like countless times before, filed that little comment away to be dealt with at some vague point in the distant future, if ever.

‘As for how I found you,’ Jared continued, ‘well, I hope you’ll forgive me saying this, but I know you can have a bit of a nervous bladder at times, and also that you have certain preferences about where to relieve yourself — not in buildings you’ve just left, for example, if it means turning back, because it’s awkward. And when I was thinking of all the reasons why you might have been out so late, well, it occurred to me that perhaps you’d gotten stuck somewhere, and the Starbucks was the nearest contender, so I just … decided to check.’

Richard must have stayed silent for a little too long — it was, after all, a piece of deduction that was as unsettling as it was impressive — because Jared had then started to apologise for overstepping.

At which point Richard had quickly assured him that that wasn’t necessary at all, because yeah, it was weird, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to complain.

And now they were driving in silence. Richard didn’t know what to say; the weight of their being alone together hung over him like a stormcloud threatening to spill its contents. Jared, for all intents and purposes, seemed entirely focused on driving and not in the least out of his element. Richard, on the other hand, was starting to get so anxious that he was almost wishing he were back in the Starbucks bathroom.

They were pulling into the driveway of the house when the words spilled from his mouth.

‘Do you like me?’

Jared didn’t answer immediately, parking the car and turning off the engine before meeting his gaze.

‘Of course I like you, Richard,’ he said, smiling a little with that slightly-too-sincere, all-too-familiar expression on his face.

Richard’s pulse quickened and he knotted his fingers together in his lap.

‘That’s — that’s not what I mean.’

Jared’s smile faded. ‘What did you mean?’ The words were soft, almost a whisper.

The inside of the car felt suddenly quite airless. Richard fought the urge to rattle off the first lame excuse he could think of, propel himself out of Jared’s car, and disappear into his room, never to speak of this again, ideally forgetting he’d even asked the question.

But as strong as that urge was, the urge to know the answer was stronger.

‘Dinesh told me you liked me,’ Richard said in a rush. ‘Last night, after karaoke, he just — I didn’t ask, it came out of nowhere, he said that you —’ he cringed, but it was far too late to stop now, even if the contents of his stomach were threatening to revolt with every word he said, ‘— that you, um. Had a thing for me. A crush. I think those were his words? And I just wanted to — to know. If that was, um. True?’

Richard dared to dart a look at Jared. There was a single beat of silence before he answered.

‘It is,’ said Jared softly. ‘In fact —’ he looked away, tilting his head downward, ‘— I was wondering when you’d ask.’

Richard blinked. ‘You — you what?’

‘Earlier today, Dinesh told me that he’d told you,’ Jared explained. ‘So I knew that you knew that I had feelings for you, and that it was likely only a matter of time before it came up.’

‘Oh,’ said Richard. A range of feelings swirled in his chest. He struggled to put a name to any of them.

Jared shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘Richard, I’m sorry.’

_What?_

But before Richard could ask, Jared turned in his seat to face him and fixed him with one of his wide-eyed, intense stares.

‘I’m so sorry — I know I’ve put you in a terribly awkward position, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. I never intended for you to find out, but nonetheless I should’ve told you sooner, for purposes of full disclosure. I promise you that I’d never let this affect my work at Pied Piper, but if you would rather I resign so as not to compromise —’

‘Wait, _what_?’ Richard cut in, too shocked to wait for Jared to finish talking. He stared, unsure if he was hearing correctly.  ‘Jared, are you leaving?’

‘Well, I have no plans to, but I would understand if you asked me to go, although I would of course prefer to stay —’

‘Then stay!’ said Richard. He threw up his hands, letting out a little laugh that was more from nerves than anything else. ‘Seriously, man, I —’ He took a breath, sighing on the exhale. ‘It’s not that big a deal. You don’t have to apologise or anything, you didn’t, like, do anything wrong. It’s — it’s fine.’

Jared didn’t seem convinced. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ said Richard, ‘I am. Look, I, uh — it’s a little weird, I mean, I wasn’t expecting this, but it’s — fine. Nothing has to change, we can just keep going as usual, right?’ He tried to smile.

‘Right,’ said Jared, smiling uncertainly back. He nodded, as if to himself. ‘Right, we can just continue … as usual.’

‘Yeah. I’ll — look, I’m sorry I ever asked, right? I shouldn’t have. Let’s just —’

‘Pretend this conversation never happened?’

Richard stared. It was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Jared’s mouth.

‘Because I can do that,’ Jared continued, a determined look settling on his features. ‘We don’t have to talk about this ever again, I swear, and everything can go back to normal.’ He gestured with his hands as he spoke, as if underlining his words.

‘Um.’ 

‘Is that what you want?’

Richard hesitated. Did he want that? For this all to go away?

He wasn’t sure — and if that wasn’t what he wanted, then what was?

The truth was, he had no real idea what he wanted, other than to traipse to his room and pass out. It had been, to say the least, a long day.

But in absence of knowing what he wanted, Jared’s proposed solution seemed like the next best thing — and it certainly appeared to be what _he_ wanted, at any rate.

‘Sure,’ said Richard at last. ‘Let’s — let’s do that.’ He tried to crack a smile. ‘Conversation over, then?’

Jared tilted his head to one side, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

‘What conversation?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who's read and enjoyed this fic and stuck by me even as my update schedule grows increasingly more ridiculous. Oh how mythically distant the early days of this fic seem, when new chapters would spring to existence at a veritably sprightly pace...


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